


The Force's Chosen Hunters

by Merfilly



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Community: spook_me, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 13:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12508388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: Plo Koon has outlived his first pack, but now, in among the war, he may have found another to guide.





	The Force's Chosen Hunters

There was nothing _usual_ about the clones that had been assigned to Plo Koon, he knew in only moments after being in their presence. Other Jedi might have picked up on the primal drive, but he doubted any of them had a thought as to how different the 104th actually was.

He knew. He knew as surely as Obi-Wan would have, had he been given their command. Bultar might have, as well, and there was no doubt that Lissarkh would have.

Ahsoka nor Anakin had ever been exposed, though, as the one had been too young and the other had only known Qui-Gon a matter of days, without **it** happening.

Tahl had been their first. Plo had never asked her Finder or her Master, but he suspected she had already carried it with her when she came to the Temple. Normally, it would never have been an issue.

Normally, however, had not counted on the Kel Dor infant being dropped into her clan, along with the three humans. No one could have foreseen what would happen when the psychic, communal-minded child meshed with the minds of his new 'clan'.

Or perhaps Tyvokka had, and that was why he had chosen that clan for his Foundling and future padawan. Certainly it had been Tyvokka that had protected them through the worst of it, as her markers spread through the five of them in different forms. By the time they had padawans of their own, not a one of them was uncontrolled in the matter. They had dutifully warned their padawans, though, and explained how to best aid, should the control snap.

Tahl's death had begun undoing it, leaving only vestiges, ones that could erupt fully under severe stress. Plo had felt it rip through Micah in his final moments, and Obi-Wan swore that if it had come, just a little faster, his master would have survived that fight in Theed.

Plo hadn't felt the touch of it in all the years since losing Qui-Gon, and thought that it surely meant their fifth had to be dead as well, that all of **it** had become too weak to hold the last member of that clan.

Now, as he walked aboard the _Triumphant_ , he felt the old stirrings, and knew the Force had prepared him for this moment, for these beings.

For, much like his clanmates, there was nothing human to them, save the veneer over their snarling natures.

* * *

It was expected, Plo Koon observed, that certain Jedi, put into war, would slowly fall back on baser instincts. That Lissarkh had done so was testified to in reports that obliquely implied there could have been prisoners in her behind-lines missions, except she did not believe in risking her men to get such back to the Republic.

Plo found it a rough sort of justice, but then his people were given to harsher views on life and death, especially of enemies. This, more than anything, led him to believe the Force had guided him to the Wolfpack, a name that betrayed so much and yet hid it all in plain sight. Between his own nature, and his feeling that punishment should be swift and final, they were well-matched as a unit.

First, he had to gain their trust. The marks had spread through the unit, testimony to the unity they shared by their unique creation and the near-Force sensitivity that marked itself in how well all of the officers seemed to bond to their generals. Plo was careful to never go in their quarters, or call attention to the absences from duty that seemed to rotate through the squadrons.

Let them come to him.

He did not question that their unit never captured the organic leaders of the Separatists they faced, that those beings were merely never seen again.

Some day, the pack would understand they were safe with him.

Some day never came for many of them, and it was in the pod with the last three survivors of his unit that Plo realized he could wait no longer. These dangerous beings were at risk, when rescue came. And it would, for he could feel the weak pull and trace of his young foundling trying to reach him.

"All of you must find control," he said softly, as **it** pressed so hard on his senses, calling to that piece of him which had withered with each death of his first clan.

"General?"

There was an edge in the voice, and Plo knew his Commander was caught between his nature and his training. It would be so easy to destroy the Jedi, here and now, have no more interference, and yet —

"Commander." Plo moved to where he could run his talons right over the scalp, down the neck of the young man, knowing just where the skin prickled most with its burn and itch. The soft gasp from the other two was telling, but his Commander gave it away more fully, not being confined in armor to remind him of his masquerade.

Wolffe _whined_ and pressed into those touches, too close to the nature clawing in his chest to be let out.

"I am fully aware of who you truly are. You see," he began, before turning his hands away from the man, showing them to all, palm upwards, as they twisted just slightly, becoming something far more dangerous than the hands of a Jedi, of a Kel Dor. "I am marked as well. And I can help you withstand the loss of so many, if you will but trust me, so that together, we survive to hunt their killers together."

"How?!" Wolffe demanded, and Plo felt hope at war with doubt. The Commander, then, was the source. Plo's tusks flexed inside his protective mask.

"By containing the marks to just us, perhaps others if we need them later, and by using my mind to push **it** down, as we need to in order to hide still."

"Teach us, sir," Sinker asked, throwing himself at the potential lifeline.

"Less teach, young one, and more that we share. As I did with my first clan, I will with you… if you allow."

"You've known," Boost reasoned. "And… said nothing?"

"What was there to say, until there could be trust?"

* * *

Of all their enemies, only Dooku could suspect what he faced. And Dooku had become complacent, believing the threat had died with his own padawan on Naboo. It had been rare for Plo to fall fully to **it** , and he had mastered the marks to his will as fully as Micah had.

Plo had never been more wrong in his life, though, on what the enemy could suspect. How the witch had determined the threat, and moved to try to end it, he had no idea. For the first time in years, Plo risked poisoning in the thin air of this world to save the one who had become known as his First Son in the new clan. His arrival sent the woman fleeing, letting Plo resume wearing his mask and goggles as he gathered the tortured form of his child close.

Wolffe was wearing the skin of the masquerade at least, allowing them to get clear of those who did not know, preserving their secret. Alone, Wolffe whined until his brothers helped push him to the true form, and he could sleep to heal.

"We hunt the witch?" Sinker asked.

"Not until I know more of her," Plo said, carefully pushing healing energies into his Commander. To heal was contrary to their nature, and yet Plo had made himself learn to use it, to counter suspicions about what he was. That had been urged on him by his master as well, in the course of protecting his first clan. "She inhibited his nature. Few, outside my own apprentices, or those of my first clan, should know how. Master Tyvokka said we were a rare species to begin with."

"Worrying," Boost agreed. "We will hunt… in time."

* * *

For once, Plo found the intelligence on an upcoming attack to be enough to have him lean heavily on the chain of command to let his legions take the mission. Skywalker was loathe to give way, but Kenobi looked at the elder man shrewdly, and nodded.

"No, Commander; Captain. This is best left in the hands of General Koon and his men," Kenobi told the others in the briefing. Plo watched as both men, in their holo presence, stiffened before relaxing. 

"Kamino's in good hands with them."

Plo signed off from the briefing, curious if possibly his sons' unique existence was known to others. He would have to learn… after the hunt.

* * *

Cornering the prey in among the unfinished creations of the Kaminoans, the young brothers to be, was somehow perfect. Plo Koon kept his control, watching as Asajj Ventress manipulated the Force to throw Sinker far to the side, twisting it in psychic chains that kept his nature at bay. He felt his hands twist a little farther from normal, the already dangerous talons reinforced by sinew and muscle to tear flesh, at that harm to his chosen son.

She managed to twist the Force around Boost as well, but Comet, their newest clan-mate, chosen to share their marks for his own fierce nature, managed a focused barrage of fire that pushed her right into striking distance for Wolffe.

That son, having long since shed his armor, was already fully in the grip of his marks, mouth full of sharp teeth that latched onto her arm, thrown up on instinct alone. Plo could feel her rage more than fear, as his First Son tore and ravaged the soft tissue, powerful jaws close to snapping the bones.

Plo used the Force to break her grip on the lightsabers, currently in a staff configuration, and Comet kept his blasters trained on her as their Jedi strode into the melee, his lightsaber still on his belt.

"Who taught you about the marks?" he demanded, as Wolffe refused to let go of the pale arm.

She laughed, a sound of hatred, bitterness, and vitriol. "Only the one your Order conveniently allowed to go missing and left to the mercies of Wild Space!"

Already alert to her mind, Plo caught the glimpse of his missing clan mate, much older than he had last seen him, caught in the throes of the changing while his lifeblood seeped from his body. The image was enough to bring a snarl to his own throat, yet… she was holding Ky? Crying for him?

"You were… chosen by him?"

Asajj hissed, ignoring the teeth in her arm with all her willpower to glare at the Jedi. "I was all he had, after you abandoned him!"

"Sir, she's twisting you up," Sinker called, struggling to rise from where he had crashed into a piece of equipment.

Plo ignored his son's voice to crouch closer to the woman, bringing his face to hers. "Why do you want the marks? Surely he told you the price they carry."

She only smiled. "I have my own goals, Jedi. The power of it is worth the cost."

He shook his head, then stood, turning his back. "We never truly thought so, as he also would have said. Nor are you capable of bearing them without being twisted fully into **it**." He glanced down at Wolffe, then to each of the other three, and gave them a sharp nod.

He walked out as the rage did turn to fear, and the pain increased, making certain no others disturbed the end of the hunt. Standing at the door, he held hard to control over his own marks again, remembering Tyvokka's words from so long ago.

~You, nor they chose it. But I know you will be strong, and use it inside the constraints of what you learn as a Jedi, as a Baran Do Sage.~

Plo had a new clan to protect, to guide… and soon they would turn their hunt against the Sith. That, he had decided, was the sole reason he had outlived the others, so that one of them would be here for this part of the eternal struggle.


End file.
